


Another drink, please

by Starvoidd



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, That'd be Pidge, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 10:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starvoidd/pseuds/Starvoidd
Summary: With a horrific amount of alcohol swirling around in your gut, it's surprisingly easy to fall into a vodka fueled sexual-tension thing with a guy who still thinks a mullet is an acceptable haircut. Lance is more than happy to go along with it.





	Another drink, please

**Author's Note:**

> Dmjsjajskks when you realise you made a typo in the summary and 1.5k people have seen it

1.

The music is average, having played most of the bangers off the bat, and the patio doors are open, letting in January air that’s on the wrong side of cold; cheap fairy lights are strung across the picture rails, and the arms of the sofa are unpleasantly sticky with cheap cider. Despite all this, Lance is sitting in the haphazard circle, a flimsy plastic cup full of god knows what clutched tight in his right hand, completely content. There’s a warm pool of something (probably the vodka, let’s be honest) settling in his chest, washing over him, making his fingertips buzz and his head feel light and fuzzy – just enough to make him melt into the sofa, watching the bottle in the middle of the circle spin round and round and round and round and –

“Shiro and Maaaaaatttttttt! Big bro!” Pidge slurs, pointing to the bottle with a whoop, “What fuckin surprise.”

“Nice luck man -”

“Get _in_ there, you dog -”

“Fuck yeah!” That last one was Lance himself. He wiggles his eyebrows at Shiro, who’s sitting across from him, but all he gets in return is a dazed out, crooked smile. Lance eyes the cup that Shiro’s holding – the alcohol in it sloshing as Shiro’s mechanical arm moves jerkily, a weird blue-green colour that can only mean someone’s dumped a load of cocktails in it. He watches with a grin as Shiro necks a couple more gulps, some spilling down his chin and dripping onto his lap; once he pulls back, Shiro looks around the circle in a whiskey-induced stupor, slamming the cup down on the floor and raising his arms up above him.

“Should I?” He cries, and there’s an uproar from the circle. Shiro pauses for a second, leaning over to Matt in a manner that’s probably an attempt at subtlety, and whispers, “Is… is that alright? I mean, if you’re not comfortable, we don’t -”

And bless Shiro for trying, Lance thinks (or at least, he _thinks_ he thinks, because right now all he can think about is the burn of the drink as it slides down his throat), because Matt just smirks and pulls Shiro towards him roughly by the front of his shirt, smashing their mouths together in the way you only can when you’re drunk; it’s uncoordinated and sloppy, and hell, Lance thinks, that’s _hot_.

His view seems to be unanimous, because the uproar is amplified tenfold as the circle hollers – although no-one misses Pidge cackling to herself as she takes out her phone and starts snapping photos – and by the time Shiro and Matt are finally done, Lance has almost reached the bottom of his cup, peering down at the dredges in surprise. The warm feeling in his chest is now – is now fucking burning, jesus. But in a good way, he thinks.

“What – what did you put ‘n this?” Lance turns to Hunk, pointing to the now empty cup. “’Cause it was fuckin _stronk_ man.”

Hunk giggles and shrugs; the cat ears on his head have almost fallen off. “I dunno. There was some stuff on the counter dude, I just put a bit of everything in.”

“Well it’s fuckin _good._ Some good shit. Can you make me ‘nother?” Lance points to his cup. “I’ve run out.”

Hunk sighs and pries himself up from the floor, and there’s an outcry from the circle, but he waves them away, declaring that he’s just topping Lance up, and _don’t worry, jeez guys, I’m coming back, alright?_ Lance watches him go, cursing Hunk’s godly alcohol tolerance, ‘cause he’s not staggering or anything, not even a little, and Lance can already feel him head becoming too heavy on his shoulders, like it could just loll to the side onto someone’s shoulder –

\- Keith’s shoulder, as it turns out, as the lucky guy’s sitting next to him. Keith doesn’t even blink, continuing to stare blankly down at the two bottles of beer he’s holding in each of his hands. They’ve both been equally drank from, and as if he’s weighing up his options, Keith looks between them with his brows furrowed. There’s a bead of sweat forming at his temples, and when Keith finally turns to look at him, Lance sees they’re just as glassy as his own.

“How many’f those have you had?” Lance whispers (only it isn’t whispering, not really), letting his eyes flicker down to the beer. “Cause you look wwaaaaaaaasted”

Keith almost seems to not understand him, because he looks at Lance, looks at the beer, then looks back at Lance with this vacant look in his eyes, before finally saying –

“T-twelve.”

“ _Tweleve_?” Lance cries, looking at Keith incredulously. “On top of all the shots?”

“What?” Keith blanks. “I did shots?”

“You – shit. You obliterated those shots. It was like you couldn’t even _taste_ them.”

Keith continues to stare at him, a little unfocused as he brings one of the bottles up and takes a long swing - but Lance swears he sees Keith’s eyes flicker down to his mouth, just for a second –

But then there’s a shout, and –

“Lance and Hunk! Go on you two, do ya thing.” Pidge giggles from across the circle. Lance pulls away from Keith with a jerk as Hunk sits down beside him and hands him the newly mixed drink; the bottle is pointing at him accusingly, and he turns to grin at Hunk, beckoning him closer with his free hand. The drink slaps against the sides of the cup.

“Is this fate?” He slurs, looking at Hunk and batting his eyelashes. “Is this destiny?”

“This is spin the bottle, and you’re white-girl drunk, Lance.” Hunk laughs, leaning in. Lance spares on last, throwaway glance towards Keith, who’s grip on the beer bottles must be almost shattering them by now, but then his lips find Hunk’s, and they share a quick kiss before pulling away. Lance turns back to the group, swinging his free hand around in a vague gesture.

“And that’s all you’re getting, you perverts!”

The group laughs and settles back into conversation, and as Hunk is caught up in some sort of mock-argument with Shay, he lets his gaze wander around the circle, trying not to let his vision blur too much. Shiro and Matt are pretty much opposite him, leaning into each other, with Matt’s head resting drunkenly on Shiro’s shoulder as they giggle about something out of earshot. For a pretty beefy guy, Shiro’s alcohol tolerance is piss poor – discovered when Shiro decided it was a good idea to play indoor cricket after five beers – and as much as it was entertaining to see the dad complex fall away, it was even _more_ entertaining to see the cricket ball rebound off the wall and hit him in the face.

Pidge wasn’t allowed alcohol the first few times, but since Allura sneakily supplied her with some cider at the last get-together, she’s been off the wall – Allura tends to sit to the side with Shay, sipping some sort of weak cocktail, but she seems to enjoy it, so Lance isn’t gonna force vodka onto her or anything. Although that would be pretty funny, thinking about it.

Hunk, as he’s said, has the terrible burden of being built like a fucking bodybuilder, and giving drink to him is basically as good as pouring it down the drain, ‘cause it does fuck all to him. That said, he usually sits with them all and at least _tries_ to get buzzed. Lance has to give it to him - it must be boring to be the only vaguely sober one out of the eight of them, but he doesn’t seem to mind too much.

Keith, though – it’s the first time he’s actually showed up, and he’s somehow managed to drop his passive-aggressive stance on everything Lance says, and… well, he’s not exactly a chatterbox, but he’s sitting complacently and listening to Lance ramble on about whatever’s taken his fancy, chipping in with the occasional out-of-character comment. To be honest, Lance isn’t sure Keith’s ever done the whole drink-up-thing before, because he’s looking pretty spaced out, and… decidedly not Keith.

“Hey. Hey Keith.” Lance mumbles

“… Yeah? What?” He says, turning towards him. Both the beer bottles are standing empty on the sofa beside him, and he’s got at least half of one spilt down his shirt, the material clinging to his chest in a way that makes something in Lance’s own go all… gooey.

“Flavoured condoms: opinions?” Lance asks, raising one eyebrows artfully. Keith doesn’t skip a beat.

“No opinion. Never used one.”

This time it’s Lance’s turn to blank, and he draws back, frowning. “What, not once? Not even one of those basic bitch strawberry ones?”

“No, like…” Keith seems at a loss for words. “Like I’ve never used any. Any condoms. I haven’t… like…” And at that, Lance chokes on his mouthful of drink, feeling it burning in his nose – he coughs once, twice, looking at Keith with eyes the size of dinner plates.

“You’re a fucking _virgin_?” he wheezes.

“Uh… yeah. That.”

“Like, you haven’t fucked anyone, or you haven’t done _anything_ -anything?”

“Anything-anything.” Keith look down at his empty bottles forlornly, all hints of animosity towards him gone, then to Lance’s cup. It’s _weird_. “Can I?” he says, gesturing towards it.

Lance is about to hand it to him when he reconsiders, pulling back.

“Uh-uh, no way, not until you tell me exactly what you’ve done. Anything-anything doesn’t cut it, my friend.”

Keith’s hand stops halfway to Lance’s drink, and he looks up at him with these eyes that are way too purple to be natural. Has Lance ever noticed that? He must’ve done, because there’re these silvery-bluey flecks in them, and they’re shining all doll like, and –

“We’re friends?” Keith mumbles, looking at Lance hesitantly. “I thought… I thought you hated me?”

Lance slowly takes a sip of his drink, the gears turning in his head, although it feels as though someone’s clogged them with honey.

Were he and Keith friends?

Rivals?

He can’t remember.

All he can think of in this particular moment is the way the light is playing off the planes of Keith’s face, casting shadows under his cheekbones, glancing off his hair -

“I don’t think so.” Lance starts, reason racing to catch up with whatever his mouth is spewing, “In fact I think -”

“Oh, holy _fuck_ , the bottle lords have blessed us.” Pidge laughs from somewhere in the room, knocking Lance’s train of thought. He looks around to see that the circle is staring at him intently, impatiently. And then, of course, he looks down to see the bottle pointing straight at Keith.

And holy shit, it was his go, wasn’t it?

Oh.

So that –

That means –

“Keith. Lance.” Matt says in this deep, serious tone, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him, “Give us a show.”

The gears are turning faster now, and Lance looks at Keith with panic in his eyes, attempting a weak laugh, but Keith is just staring at his mouth again, and damnit, _damnit_ –

And when Keith finally, _finally_ looks up, his pupils are blown wide, and there’s this haze of pink blossoming on his face, and it’s Keith, god, it’s _Keith_ –

Lance has to remind himself of that –

But he feels himself giving in, leaning forward, eyes closing, head spinning, until suddenly he feels another set of lips sliding over his own, and _god_. They’re slick and soft, and the lingering taste of beer makes something in Lance’s stomach drop out; he leans into the kiss, seeking out something more, running his tongue along Keith’s lower lip –

And - and it feels _right_ –

But Keith’s pulled away, red faced and breathing heavily, and distantly, he can hear someone screaming.

 

Jesus _fuck_.

 

 

 ***

 

 

 

2.

It’s getting late, the February breeze isn’t quite as cold, and the music is even louder than before – and, most importantly, Keith’s here again. He hadn’t showed up to the two last, smaller get togethers, making up some bullshit-sounding excuses that Lance didn’t believe for a second. He’s here now, though, sitting on Pidge’s sofa with a colourful array of cans laid out at his feet, bouncing his leg in time to some emo 90’s song he insisted on putting on, much to Lance’s distaste. How dare he have the nerve to interrupt his (stunning) rendition of Mamma Mia for this… this…

“ _Shit_.” He hears pidge shout, spinning around (attempting in vain to stop the contents of his cup slosh onto the floor) to see that Shiro’s upended his drink onto Pidge’s front. She stares down at her top incredulously, watching as it bleeds across the fabric, staining it a sickly pink. “You _bastard_.”

Shiro just stands there, looking between the empty cup and Pidge, before giving a sheepish smile and scratching the back of his neck.

“I’ll buy you, uh… a new one.”

“You fucking better.” She scowls, shooting him the middle finger before turning around to stalk off –

\- only to run right into Lance. He backs up hastily, his head spinning slightly, but Pidge grabs him by the front of his t-shirt and drags him over into the living room.

“Lance. Buddy. Go get me a new t-shirt, would you?” She says, jabbing him in the chest. Lance stalls.

“…Why though?”

“Because this one’s ruined and I’m – I’m lazy. Okay. Laaaaaazy.” Her words are slurred, and Lance giggles.

“You’re what?”

“I’m laaaa _aaaaaaaazy_ , Lance. Go… go get me one.”

“Alright. Okay. Sure thing Pigeon. And I’m gonna… gonna…” Lance starts, looking around the room for inspiration on how to finish. His eyes settle on Keith, who’s still quietly jamming out to his song.

“Gonna take Keith for moral support. C’mon Keithy-boy. You and me.”

Keith is hauled of the sofa by his arm, knocking over a few cans (that were thankfully empty) and staggering to the door leading to the hallway. The stairs prove a bit of challenge, and Lance ends up practically crawling up them as they near the top, trying drunkenly to keep his drink from splashing onto the carpet.

“Which one’s hers again?” Lance frowns, taking a loud sip from his cup. Keith looks between the closed doors and shrugs.

“That one?”

“Is that a… a guess?”

“Yep.”

Lance wanders over to the door Keith had pointed at, leaving sticky fingerprints on the handle as he pushes it open, revealing only darkness. He shoves his drink towards Keith, feeling along the wall for a light switch, but Keith only barrels in after him, sending Lance forward just a _little_ too fast into –

Into something… pillowy?

“Why… is there an airbed in here?” Keith mumbles, deciding now would be a good time to sit down on the floor. The bed is inflated, leaning up against a shelf, accompanied by another lying across the carpet. The room is small. A study?

“I dunno. S-storage? Or something.” Lance muses. “Can I have my drink?”

“Come down here and get it man. I’m not getting up.”

“But -”

“I don’t think I _can_ get up.”

“Went a little too hard on the… on the strong stuff huh?”

Keith places the drink on the floor, choosing to lay back across the airbed. He stretches his limbs, and in the dim light coming from the hall through the partially closed door, Lance can see his shirt ride up on his stomach, muscles taught. He swallows.

“What about Pidge’s t-shirt?” He says, looking around, shuffling his feet on the spot. “It isn’t in here.”

“Don’t care.”

“So we’re just gonna stay here, are we?”

“Yep.” Keith sighs, his lips popping on the syllable, lying back onto the airbed and stretching leisurely like a cat in the sun. His head tilts as his narrowed meet with Lance’s own. “You gonna join me?”

Lance’s mouth goes a little dry, and he nods his head a little too enthusiastically; with an awkward shimmy, he’s lying down on his front, half on top of Keith, and way, way too close to his mouth for him to be composed. Slowly, Keith toes the door shut.

For a long while they lay in silence, shrouded in the shadows of the small space they’ve made for each other. It’s strangely peaceful – awkward as fuck, but still peaceful – to just rest his head on Keith’s chest, and listen to his heartbeat reverberating in his ears. Similarly, Keith is surprisingly still, shifting only once to retract his arm from under Lance and place it softly over his shoulders. Lance could swear Keith pulls him a little closer, but with the way his body feels pleasantly numb, its really sort of hard to tell. Even so, it’s just –

It’s nice, he thinks. Real nice.

He thinks he could stay like this forever, even in silence, when Keith brushes his hand down Lance’s back and whispers –

“It’s too hot.”

Lance swallows, his eyes raising to meet Keith’s. He can barely see him in the dim light. He considers saying numerous things, but before he can reconsider, he run his fingers across Keith’s shirt and blurts out –

“Take this off then.”

Keith hums. “m’ shirt?”

“…Yeah. You’ll be cooler.”

There’s a pause (in which Lance almost thinks he’s made a mistake), but then Keith’s lips draw up into a smirk.

“Take it off for me then.”

 _Fuck_.

Lance stutters out a hesitant laugh, hedging his bets, because there’s no way he’d heard him right – no way he’d just been asked to fucking _undress_ him –

“We don’t have all night, McClain.” Keith murmurs, head tipping back, his neck one long, pale line. “You can undo buttons, right?”

“I – yeah, of course. I’m. The button master, actually.” Lance rambles, blushing furiously (not that anyone could see, thankfully), having to roll off to the side a little in order to fumble clumsily at the shirt buttons, smiling giddily to himself. Before he knows it, he’s down to the last one, practically level with Keith’s crotch, which is a though he can’t even begin to dwell without beginning to combust. Lance can’t actually see anything either – something that’s turned from a blessing into a curse – but he can sure as hell feel the heat radiating off Keith’s skin as he brushes the material to the side, allowing his fingertips to brush softly over the planes of his abdomen. Soft, he thinks.

Keith exhales quietly, lifting a hand lazily to run fingers through Lance’s hair.

“Better?” Lance whispers.

“Yeah. Much. Would be a little – a little better if you made a start on my jea-”

Keith stops suddenly, and Lance has to shield his eyes from a beam of light creeping into the room. He hears a small gasp, and then someone’s shrieking –

“LANCE IS GIVING KEITH A BLOWJOB!”

“…fuck.”

The door slams shut, and as Lance exhales a shuddering breath and flops back down onto Keith’s chest. He groans.

“That was Pidge, wasn’t it?” Keith mutters.

“Yep.”

“She’s gonna insist she saw something, isn’t she?”

“Yep.”

“…You wanna stay here?”

“Yep.”

 

***

 

 

3.

February finally ends, and suddenly its March – the days are getting ever so slightly longer, the trees have finally taken on a greener hue, and here and there are the remaining daffodils clinging on to the beginning of spring. That said, tonight is particularly cold in comparison to the last week – although thankfully it hadn’t rained – so the grass that Lance is laying on isn’t that horrible damp that seeps into your socks and shirt. With far too many drinks in him, he stares almost wistfully at the night sky; it’s clearer than it’s been in what feels like forever, and he can pick out each and every star. They sparkle hazily, as though someone had strewn tiny crystals across the sky. It’s pretty. Purple and Blue and shining, kinda like Keith’s –

 _No_.

Lance rubs his eyes, groaning, because coming outside was meant to _stop_ him thinking about the fucker, not encourage it. It’s been over a month, and he can still feel the ghost of Keith’s lips across his own, the memory pinned to his skin; the faint feeling of a smirk against his shoulder, of fingers roaming across his skin –

 _Stop it_.

He sits up with a sigh, feeling his throat burn as he swallows; it’s the raw, acidic pang of a bunch of weird cocktails mixed together at the back of his mouth that has him looking around for another concoction to soothe it.

It comes in the form of the guy himself, as chance would have it. He’s looking down at Lance with a grin on his face and a drink in his hand, thrusting it down towards him, sloshing red onto Lance’s white shirt. He doesn’t mind.

“That for me, huh?” he says, a smile creeping onto his numb lips.

“Yup.” Keith nods, “But only if you play a game with me.”

Lance takes the cup off him, bringing it to his nose and taking a gratuitous inhale. Smells like… amaretto? “What sort of game?” he says, taking a small sip. Good enough.

Keith laughs loudly. “You’ll see. Get up.”

“Aight Jigsaw.” Lance pries himself up from the grass, a little unsteady on his feet at first, leaving the drink on the floor. Keith immediately drags him towards the back of the garden and forcibly places him by the swing set, before running (stumbling) about ten metres away. He turns to face him and begins to shout.

“What we’re gonna do,” Keith slurs, “Is you’re gonna spin ‘round, and I’m gonna count to thirty – and then… and then you’re gonna see if you can run towards me. And not, uh. Fall over.”

“Is that it?” Lance shouts back. His tongue feels like a sponge in his mouth. “This is… the shittiest Saw movie. You’re rubbish.”

“ _You’re_ rubbish.” Keith laughs. “You’re so rubbish you don’t – you don’t even realise that I-”

But Lance is already spinning round, squeezing his eyes shut so hard he can see the stars in the sky behind them, like some weird, fuzzy replica. His feet dance in small circles in the soil, somehow managing to avoid the wooden swing frame, until he’s dizzy beyond belief, his head throbbing, and as he opens his eyes he sees the smudge of Keith-red and hears his shout of “ _Go! –_ ”

It takes him only a few seconds to blearily stagger in the direction of his voice, let out a strangled ‘Keith -” and plant directly onto the ground in from of him, something clicking in his elbow unpleasantly. There’s mud at his lips, and laughter overhead.

“Hah. You – you fell over.” Keith giggles, peering down at him. Lance grumbles into the grass, rolling over onto his back.

“Yeah, cause you told me to run. And I ran and I fell over. Cause I’m – drunk. ‘Nd I can’t see straight. And-”

“You’ve got a stain on your shirt.” Keith says, pointing to the mixture of grass and mango cocktail.

“Who’s faults that, huh?”

“Dunno.”

“It’s yours. Dumbass.”

“Is not.” Keith huffs, holding out a hand. Lance grabs it and hauls himself up a little too quickly, stumbling forward into Keith’s chest with a small noise of panic. Keith just stands there like a rock, steadying him, and Lance doesn’t have enough willpower left to stop him from just resting his head on Keith’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. It’s warm, and… good. God is it good.

Keith, for what it’s worth, wraps his arms around him and chuckles. “You need a new shirt.”

“Nah, it’s fine. ‘S just some grass, man.”

“No no, no. Shiro has some upstairs. I’ll get one for you.”

Lance’s heart jumps. “I mean… I could. If it’s okay.”

“Course it is, man,” Keith smiles, but its lopsided. He nods, and Keith takes him inside, pushing past the congregation in the kitchen, which has turned into a hot mess since Lance left it. Pidge it sat on the kitchen counter-top, nursing a bottle of vodka as if it were a child, laughing at something Allura is saying. A keg has appeared on the table, there’s a large pool of something blue on the floor, and it looks as though someone got the muchies, ‘cause there are eggshells by the sink, and a pan sticking out of the washing up bowl with bits of burnt egg still stuck to it. Lance is 70% certain it was Matt - speaking of whom, is stood on a chair by the door. He points a finger at Keith as they walk past.

“Where’re you two going, huh?” he slurs, eyeing them up. Lance opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

“Upstairs.” Keith interjects, waving Matt away. “He needs ‘nother shirt.”

Matt only giggles, raising an eyebrow.

“Oooh, right. Yeah. I get it. He fucked his shirt, so you’re gonna fuck _him_. Very nice. Can I watch?”

Lance chokes, but Keith just turns around, unruffled.

“That’s kiiiiiiinky, Matt.” he sings, dragging Lance into the hallway, “If you’re that horny, go and – I dunno. Suck off Shiro. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“But Shiro’s gone to get more beer.” Matt whines, jumping down from the chair and leaning against the doorframe. “And you know he doesn’t let me.”

“No, Matt, I didn’t. But that’s your problem, y’know? I’ve got… better things to do” Keith shrugs, turning away to pad up the stairs. Lance follows him in a daze, watching the back of Keith’s head as he hops up onto the landing, nimble on his feet.

“This way,” Keith beckons, leading him into a small room. Lance takes a moment to look around, squinting in the harsh light coming from the uncovered bulb, but before he can ask where Shiro’s wardrobe is, he’s being pushed against the wall – he registers a hand on his chest, and then without warning, a hot mouth sliding shakily over his own.

Lance stills. He exhales, unmoving, desperately waiting for his brain to catch up with whatever the hell was going on –

But he doesn’t have time, because Keith is moaning softly into his mouth, swiping his tongue across Lance’s lips. Its warm and wet and real fucking hazy, and Lance can’t tell up from down, but with the little energy he has left, he wraps a hand around Keith’s waist and slots a leg between his thighs, brushing his tongue over Keith’s with a needy desperation. For a moment Keith pulls away, leaving Lance leaning in after him, but he rests their foreheads together, panting.

“D’you know how much I want you to blow me right now?” he murmurs.

Even through the rush of alcohol in his veins, Lance can physically feel his heartbeat quicken, and for a moment he wonders if he’s heard him right. If someone’s slipped something into this drink, and he’s hallucinating Keith’s fingers dancing up his sides – or, or something –

Because there’s no way in _hell_ Keith just said what Lance thinks he said. No way can he be leaning in to place wet kisses down his neck, or pushing down onto Lance’s thigh, or gripping his waist like a lifeline –

 _Fuck_ -

“It’d be so tempting to just… take these off,” Keith continues, dragging a hand down Lance’s chest to cup him through his jeans, “and let me fill you mouth. You’d – you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Lance shudders, head tipping back in shock. He can feel the warmth of Keith’s palm even through the denim, and when Keith squeezes lightly, he keens, feeling a sharp spike of arousal settle in his gut.

“Yes,” he gasps, barely coherent. “God, please -”

Keith laughs, his voice rich, mouth coming up to brush at Lance’s ear, making him shiver.

“But not here, Lance.” Keith whispers, breath coming in hot pants, “Not in Shiro’s room.”

Lance whines, but Keith shushes him with a finger to his lips. “But as soon as I can get you alone…”

He places one last kiss on his lips, biting softly, before pulling away –

And just like that –

He’s gone.

 

 

***

 

 

4.

Nyma’s living room has turned into some sort of horny nightmare. Her and Rolo are spread out languidly across the sofa, engaged in sloppy kiss that’s way too loud to be considered tolerable, and from what Lance can see in the absence of the lamp’s light, Nyma’s top is hanging off the edge of the coffee table. Shiro and Matt are arguably worse, having taken a stomach-pump worthy amount of Jaeger bombs at the kitchen counter all of an hour ago, before retreating to the other sofa to grind out their feelings. Which is. Well, it’s a nice view, Lance will admit, but he can’t help but feel sorry for Pidge when she walks into the room looking for Allura, and instead gets an eyeful of her brother dry humping Shiro with his tongue down his throat. Hell, even Hunk and Shay are tucked away in the corner, exchanging comparatively chaste kisses under the cover of darkness. It’s almost impressive, in some weird, slightly gross way.

Lance himself is… not better. Even he can admit that. He’s found himself splayed across Keith’s lap, legs wrapped around his waist on the armchair next to the TV, simultaneously trying to keep his head from lolling back and place as many open-mouthed kisses to his neck as is physically possible. Keith is groaning underneath him, palming clumsily at Lance’s ass, pulling him towards him roughly.

“Lance -” Keith says, low and breathless, “Leave a mark.”

Lance looks up, licking his lips absently. How did he get here again?

“Yeah, I – you sure?” he slurs.

“Mm. Want you to.” Keith bucks up slightly, trailing his hand up Lance’s shirt, fingers splayed gracelessly over his back, digging in so hard its on the brink of being painful. “Want to remember – _hah_ … want to be reminded of this in the morning…”

 Lance’s breath hitches, giggling deliriously to himself as he dips his head to lick a stripe up Keith’s neck. His skin is burning. “Really? You wanna wear turtlenecks for the next week?”

“Nah.” Keith pants, “Want everyone to see. To know…”

He breaks off into a small moan as Lance trails his teeth across his jugular, lips brushing over his collarbone, before biting down and sucking hard. Lance closes his eyes and presses closer, laving over the skin sloppily, revelling in the way Keith shudders under him every time he bites down – every time he grinds his hips into his crotch, seeking out the friction they both so desperately want. Hell, lance _needs_ it, like he needs air to breathe. If he's going to do one thing tonight, he's going to make sure Keith’s neck is so marked up that anyone who sees it will know he was fucking taken. That he's his. Lance’s.

 _Mine_.

 

 

***

 

 

5.

Lance comes to slowly, eyes blinking blearily in the harsh light of the exposed bulb. There’s a weight around his middle, an ache behind his temple, and a dull throb between his legs that’s becoming more insistent by the second. He takes a few seconds to stare at whatever black thing is blocking most of his view, before regaining enough of his brain cells to realise that the black thing is in fact Keith’s shirt, and the weight on his chest is Keith’s arm cradling him close to his own, and _wow_ , he’s got a boner, and he’s _shit_ , he’s in bed with Keith.

 _Not your bed_ , a little voice says. Lance slowly pushes himself upwards on his elbow, looking around groggily, and – and yeah, this isn’t his bed. This isn’t his _house_. He’s still at Hunk’s, still at this goddamn party, still fucked out of his mind –

Still in the bed that he’d crawled into almost two hours ago. With him. The bastard.

He turns back towards him, letting his head fall to his shoulder. Keith’s shirtless, laying almost sideways across the bed with one arm behind his head, but he’s not asleep. Far from it. He’s looking at Lance, hooded eyes roaming over his body, unabashed. Wandering downwards to linger on the tent in his jeans. Keith licks his lips.

And Lance –

Lance snaps.

He pushes himself off the bed suddenly, staggering as he tries to regain his balance, before taking Keith’s arm and yanking him upright, dragging him up from the bed and towards the doorway. He opens the door quietly (loudly), peering into the dark hallway. It’s empty.

“C’mon.” He breathes, leading Keith quickly into the bathroom, pushing Keith forward before reaching up with scrabbling fingers to slide the lock into place. He turns around, vision swimming, to where Keith is bent in half by the window, who’s head is hanging low, weight leant on the windowsill, attempting to steady himself with an arm slung over the towel rack; his hair is covering his eyes, but his mouth is open, panting –

And when he finally looks up, he locks eyes with Lance –

And it’s a look that’s tearing something apart in his chest. He’s not sure what it is (hell, he’s not sure who _he_ is at the moment), but it’s so bittersweet that he can feel his brain start to melt. Keith’s eyes are boring into him, hungry for something –

Something that Lance can give, and give willingly –

So he’s stumbling across the small room, taking those four short steps, spurred on an aching want that he can’t ignore – that he _refuses_ to ignore – and when he finally draws to a stop in from of Keith, he takes in one long breath, closing his eyes. Holds it for a second.

Feels the heavy bass from the speakers shaking the floor.

Feels the heat pooling in his groin, sharp and insistent.

Feels his heart jump as he leans forward, pulling Keith towards him with trembling hands, and it’s oh so familiar; Lance can feel the want, the pure longing beneath his palms as he cup’s his’s face, lips finding Keith’s of their own accord.

And God.

Keith takes the tiniest of breaths, the sound so small that it’s barely there at all, before he’s pushing back, opening his mouth and grabbing Lance’s hair, tugging, exhaling in a breathless moan that sends a pleasant shiver down Lance’s spine. Keith pulls away for a moment, trying (and failing) to focus on Lance’s face – he goes to say something, but Lance leans forward, pushing him backwards against the wall.

“Shut up,” He murmurs, shoving his fingers past Keith’s jeans to thumb at the waistband of his boxers, “And help me get these off.”

Keith pauses. “Did you lock the door?”

“Yeah. No-one’s coming in. So… so just…” Lance trails off, putting his mouth to better use at the soft curve of Keith’s neck. He sucks slowly, grazing his teeth across the surface as he fumbles to undo the button, hurting his fingertips in the process, but giving a shaky sigh into Keith’s shoulder as it flicks open. He doesn’t bother with the zipper, yanking Keith’s jeans down his thighs until they get stuck. Dumb skinny jeans.

Keith whines, his hands scrabbling across the wall with nothing to hang on to; he’s already hard, cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers, curving oh so nicely upwards in a way that makes Lance’s mouth water. Quickly, whilst the adrenaline lasts, Lance dips his thumbs underneath the waistband and pulls them down in one motion, and without thinking – without even stopping to breathe – Lance drops to his knees, and suddenly he’s at eye level with Keith’s dick.

 _Keith’s_ dick.

And fuck.

He’s felt it, but only through way too many layers of clothing, only the impression of something hard and warm–

This, Lance thinks is so, so much better. He looks up at Keith through his eyelashes, who gasps and manages to pull a hand away from the wall, letting his fingers run hesitantly through Lance’s hair. A slight tug is all it takes for Lance to grip Keith’s thigh and lean in and lick a strip up from the base, revelling in the heat radiating from him, aching to just _taste_. Above, Keith shivers, his grip on his hair tightening to something bordering on painful, twisting his hand as he writhes under Lance’s ministrations.

“Lance,” he murmurs, teeth gritted in some attempt at self-restraint. “Please…”

Lance hovers, his breath ghosting over Keith’s dick. “Say it again.” He growls.

Keith looks down incredulously; his face is flushed, eyebrows drawn together in a silent plea for something –

Anything –

“Lance, I -”

“ _Say it again_.”

There’s a pause, and Keith sucks in a long, shaky breath. His hips buck involuntarily, tip grazing Lance’s lips, leaving them smeared in pre-cum. He moans, low and breathy, straining against the hand against his leg. Then, quietly –

“… _please…_ ”

And it’s that tone, that raspy, desperate plea that spurs Lance to finally take him in, and he has to restrain a groan at the feeling. Keith’s far from small, and as he slowly fills his mouth, he exhales heavily through his nose, tuning out everything other than the sensation of the hot, twitching length settled on his tongue. It’s overwhelming, and though he has to actively remember not to let his teeth brush against him, Lance can think of nothing he wants more than to take him deeper until he chokes. Fuck. He can feel his jeans growing tighter, and the temptation to sacrifice a hand to relieve some of the pressure is almost too much to bear, but he wants this more.

Distantly he hears Keith whine, high strung and utterly gorgeous. _God_.

He pulls up to tongue at the slit, sucking gently, before dipping deeper, laving over a vein that pulses every time his head nudges the back of Lance’s throat. After a moment of thought, he adjusts his hold on Keith’s hips, encouraging to move with him as he bobs his head, and after a hesitant push, Keith grunts and pushes back against him, snapping his hips just a little too far for it to be comfortable – Lance gags, but holds Keith’s hips in place, determined to adjust. He can feel a trail of spit dribbling down his chin and the prick of tears in his eyes.

“You like this, don’t you?” Keith laughs breathlessly, fingers twisting in Lance’s hair. “Like having a – _ngh_ – a cock shoved down your throat”. Lance moans around him, letting Keith guide him into a lazy rhythm; he can taste the pre-cum across his tongue every time he pulls up to give a suck at the head, salty and bitter. He can only imagine what the real thing would taste like – what if would feel like to have it lay thick on his tongue, dripping down his throat –

“Fuck. You’re so fucking pretty like this.” Keith grits out, licking his lips. “So willing to – to get down on your knees for me. His hands grip Lance’s hair tightly now, digging into his scalp, guiding him further down that he can physically take –

But he can feel that Keith is close, and instead of pushing him away, Lance fumbles for Keith’s hips, takes as deep a breath as he can, and lowers himself until his nose is brushing Keith’s crotch. His jaw aches, and his throat is filled, but he can smell the musk of Keith’s arousal, feel him twitch on his tongue, and god, that’s enough –

It’s more than enough –

And with a cry, Keith is spilling into Lance’s mouth, holding him in place with shaky fingers. Lance coughs, choking but unable to pull away, swallowing as much as he can before dragging Keith’s hands away from his head and gasping for breath. He takes a few seconds to heave in a lungful of air, brushing the remains of cum from the corners of his mouth, before looking up at Keith.

His eyes are shut, and he’s leaning back against the wall, breathing heavily, spent cock still dripping with saliva. Lance lets out a small laugh. _Shit_.

“Are you… are you okay?” he mumbles, shuffling to sit against the tiles, wiping sticky hands on his jeans. Keith grunts and slides down the wall to join him, boxers still around his ankles.

“Hah. Yeah.” He says, biting his lip. “’M good.”

“Good. That’s good.” Lance smiles, edging to rest his head on Keith’s shoulder. There’s still a persistent ache in his groin that’s definitely gonna need attending to, but for a just a moment, he allows himself to relax into the crook of Keith’s neck, placing a soft kiss to his jaw. That is, until he hears an irritated cough from the direction of the door.

“Well I’m glad you two are fine, but _some people_ need to actually use to bathroom to take a _piss_. Namely, me. So if you two could kindly put your dicks away and fuck somewhere else, that’d be real neat.” Says the voice.

Lance freezes.

Keith stills.

“…Is that pidge?” Lance whispers, dread creeping into his voice.

“Yep. This is Pidge.” Says the voice, knocking on the door. “Open up buddy.”

Lance grimaces, sighing forlornly, biting his lip and looking up to Keith.

“Do we have to?” Keith murmurs.

He looks to Lance, his eyes still hooded, and slowly, carefully, runs a hand along Lance’s thigh. Lance’s breath hitches, and he stifles a stunted laugh as Keith grins. There’s that look in his eyes again – that… that _something_ that sparks something in Lance’s chest. A blossoming warmth of…

… home.

He smiles.

“Nah,” he whispers, moving to draw Keith into a kiss. “I really don’t think we do.”


End file.
